


The Guest

by kathiann



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathiann/pseuds/kathiann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane never thought about what would happen after he killed Red John. And then he did, and he had no choice but to think about what happens next. Slight spoilers for, well, the whole season, though it's safe from the most recent episodes I think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Mentalist Reverse Big Bang. Art was done by the lovely lothiriel84and can be found over on LJ. Written to get it just under the wire for the due date. Enjoy!

Do you ever sit down to do something and realize the futility of the whole thing? Like why bother? It's already been done a million times. For me, that thing is apologizing. Why bother? It's been done, and usually it's infective. Saying your sorry isn't the magic panacea that parents and teachers always said it was. We become adults and the world changes. It grows darker, it becomes hard and jagged. You step on and over people to survive. Saying "I'm sorry" just doesn't mean anything. It's a false salve, usually said in jest when there is no actual care or apology intended.

I don't apologize. I don't say sorry. I don't ask for or give forgiveness. If someone, even myself, were sorry for their actions they wouldn't have done it. And if they do it, then there is only regret. There is no begging for or giving forgiveness. There is only guilt and retribution.

I knew that I was going to kill Red John. I'd attempted it once before, so there could be no doubt that I would try it again. At least, that's what I thought. Despite putting the lives of those who say they care about me on the line more that once, I just couldn't stop. Many would probably say that I needed to get help. But I didn't see it that way. I just remained focused, beyond all, on finding and catching and killing Red John. In my mind there was only one way for this to happen.

I had to kill him.

And I did. And like the last time around I wasn't convicted. I didn't talk myself out of it. No. That would have been asking for too much. No, I got off on a technicality. One of the local cops ended up being a Red John minion and was caught trying to obscure evidence. It was silly, really, that I would get off on something like that, but I didn't complain. And then I left.

My "friends" refused to speak to me. They had thought me above murder this time, but I wasn't. And I was, forever in their eyes branded a murderer. I had nothing left at the CBI. My original purpose was complete. I left and never looked back. I refused to apologize for my behavior. There was no point. At east, I didn't think there was. And I don't apologize. I just live with the misery of my actions, and the grief and disappointment that comes with it. The looks on their faces, on Lisbon's face, when they heard what I did. When I got away with murder again. Lisbon yelled. She cried. She looked at me like she looks at the poor saps across the table from her in interrogation when she knows that they are the ones who pulled the trigger. She looked at me with disgust. And then she walked away from me and I didn't blame her.

This story is not a new one. This story has been told before. In my mind, in my dreams, in the dreams of those around me. I had occasionally thought about what would happen once I killed Red John for good, once I'd gotten rid of him But not very often. I always knew that I would leave the CBI. But I didn't count on Lisbon. I didn't count on the look that she gave me from the gallery on the day that the jury returned the not guilty verdict. The look, the blaming, like it was my fault that the key piece of evidence was inadmissible due to negligence of the local cops at the scene. As though I had planned it that way. I hadn't, that's just the way it turned out. I was well prepared to spend the rest of my life in jail, to die by lethal injection, but it just wasn't to be.

That day, the first day of the rest of my life as the lawyer next top me put it, was spent sitting on a park bench. I didn't know what to do. The second day was spent packing up the last few of my meager belongings that were at the CBI and my hotel room. I wouldn't have use for most of them as they all pretty much pertained to Red John, but I didn't want to leave any of them behind.

The third day I disappeared. I didn't leave a note, I didn't answer my phone. I just got into my little car and drove away. After a while my cell phone died, I didn't bother recharging it. No one was calling anyway. I ended up at my home, the home I shared with my family. I spent the day on the beach, my toes buried in the sand, the waves lapping at my ankles. I remembered doing this with my daughter, sitting there watching her play in the sand. When night came I walked in the house. It was dark, everywhere I walked dust swirled up. Out of habit I walked slowly up the stairs and down the hallway the the last door. Despite the fact that Red John was gone and never coming back, I still felt the familiar tightening in my chest, the pounding of my heat, the quickening of my breath. As I opened the door the first thing, the only thing, I saw was that face on the wall. And I knew it was over.

I was only slightly surprised that the paint in the garage wasn't dried up and curdled. I didn't care that I dribbled on the carpet or that it didn't quite match the color on the rest of the wall. It took all night and several cotes, but the face was gone, the face that mocked me in my waking hours and haunted my in my sleep was whitewashed from existence.

The months that followed were slow, a recovery from the past ten years. I didn't know what I was going to do. I drank tea on the beach an watched the waves. After the first month I got a computer and started to look up my old friends. Not on facebook or anything so impersonal. I searched newspapers. I searched news sites. I wanted to know that they were ok. That they were moving on without me.

At first all I found were brief mentions. A quote from Cho in an article about a counterfeiting ring. A mention of Rigsby in an article about an arson in a state park that destroyed several cabins. And then one ay an announcement that made me smile.

I don't know why they bothered with something so archaic as a newspaper engagement announcement, but I liked to pretend that it was because they knew I was watching from a distance. Rigsby and Van Pelt were getting married. A date that made me smile, the first time they "hooked up" at the CBI building I'm sure they don't know that I know, but I found it sweet that the day they would pick for their wedding was the anniversary of the first time they got together. I wondered what that would mean for the team that I left behind, but I didn't want to call them. I didn't feel that it was my place. And my phone was still sitting dead on the kitchen counter. I kept paying the bill, but I never plugged it in. I think I worried that if I did that I would know that no one was calling me. That no one cared. That was what I was really worried about.

The wedding was only six months away, and not for the first time I found my mind wandering to Lisbon. Teresa Lisbon. The one person who's disappointment I couldn't bear. The one person I should have listened to. The one person that I honestly felt cared about me. But that was over now. I couldn't let my mind dwell on the past and what could have been. Instead I found pictures of Rigsby and Van Pelt with Ben on line, such a happy sight. I felt a bit bad that Ben would never know his parents being together, but knew that Rigsby would never have been truly happy with Sarah.

And I kept looking at newspapers. And for ever article that I saw that mentioned Cho or Rigsby or Van Pelt, there was at least two that mentioned Lisbon. I didn't look for those ones. I didn't search for those, I didn't seek them out they were just there. Everywhere I looked I saw her name. And I began to dream again. On the floor in my old room I would see her face, hovering above me as I lay on the ground, guns pointed at my head. And the disappointment on her face, the tears in her eyes ans she knew that there was no saving me. I couldn't go on like that.

A few months later, and the weather turning cool and the tourists going home signaled to me that it's almost time for the CBI wedding of the century. On a whim I checked my mail box, not that I ever get more than junk mail an grocery store ads. But today is different. Today there is a heavy cream colored envelop setting on top of the glossy fliers for Pizza Hut and Burger King. I smiled, I knew what it was without having to open it.

The invitation featured embossed gold lettering and a raised flower design at the bottom. I smiled, this invitation was similar, but at the same time completely different than Van Pelt's last wedding invitation. I liked this one better, it captured who she and Rigsby were. I noticed that it was to be an outdoor wedding, like the last one was intended to be. But again, despite the parallels, it seemed completely different. Their relationship had blossomed over time, had weathered hardships, and even when it had ended it was still there. They had cared for and loved each other despite engagements and children with other people. The wedding was going to be at a park that I knew, not nearly as popular a location as before, but this was better. This park featured groves of large deciduous trees that would be in full fall foliage at the wedding in the middle of October. I could imagine Van Pelt and Rigsby standing there amongst the trees, orange and red leaves falling around them, family gathered near by. I had no doubt that their love for each other would be obvious.

I was putting the invitation back into the envelop when I noticed a small piece of paper folded on the bottom of the envelope. I should have known that Van Pelt would have wanted to make sure that I knew that I wasn't just a name on a list. I decided to go inside before reading it, not trusting my reaction to what might be written.

After the brightness of the sun outside the inside of my house was dim, despite the copious number of windows. I sat in the chair I had recently purchased in a vain attempt to fill the emptiness in my house. I doubted that it would matter how many thing I filled my house with, I would still feel empty. I took what I hoped was a deep cleansing breath and unfolded the paper.

_Jane,_

_I'm sure you discovered in your way that Wayne and I are getting married. And I'm sure it comes a no surprise to you when this invitation came in the mail. I just wanted you to know that I'm not mad. I understand why you did it. I used to think that I could do what you did, but then I realized that I had something worth fighting and living for. Something that was more important than revenge for a life tortured by memories of Red John and a man who only said he loved be because he was bewitched by a sadistic mad man. I have Wayne, and Ben. I thought at one point that you might have something larger than revenge to love for. It's not too late for you. Anyone can be forgiven, if they simply ask. I really hope that you come to the wedding. It would mean a lot to us. To me in particular. I often think that you were instrumental in bringing us together._

_Grace_

I blinked back a tear. It was a ridiculously emotional response. I didn't know why I was crying. But that's a lie. Because I did know. Van Pelt was stronger than I was. Always was. Her life was just beginning when Red John played a part in it. When Red John ripped her heart out and stomped on it like it was nothing. And she survived. She didn't let grief or revenge overwhelm her.

I sat in the chair, staring at nothing, and openly wept at the thought of what might have been.

My decision to go to the wedding had everything to do with Van Pelt's note. She had found more to live for in than revenge. I still knew that I had disappointed my colleagues and friends. I didn't know if they would all welcome me with open arms, but I knew Van Pelt would. I tried not to think of the one person I had disappointed the most, the one person who had thought me capable of change.

Driving down the freeway towards Sacramento I found myself thinking of the one person I had been trying to avoid thinking about. Lisbon. Every time we had dealings with Red John she had remained optimistic that I would do the "right" thing when the final showdown came. And I hadn't. I had picked the one thing that I knew she didn't want me to do. I had killed a man in cold blood. Nor because I had no other choice, but because I was being selfish.

There, I finally admitted it. I'm a selfish bastard. Revenge was never something my family would have wanted. My wife was much too kind of a soul. And m daughter was too pure, too innocent, to even conceive of something like murder and revenge.

No, the whole idea of revenge was borne in mt mind as a way to prove Red John wrong, to prove to him that I wasn't a money grubbing fraud. But I am, I was. And I'm no better a man now than I was then. I'm still a fraud, I still care more for myself than those around me.

I didn't realize that I was driving on auto until I found myself pulling into the park. I was right in thinking that the leaves were going to be beautiful. The weather had cooperated, and while there was a chill in the air it wasn't unpleasant. It was easy enough to find the ceremony site, the path to follow had been freshly swept of leaves, though there were still ones falling around. Chairs had been set up in curved rows, I smiled, the set up was perfect to allow for maximum viewing of the bride.

The ceremony was short, sweet and filled with love. It was plain to everyone present that the tow people standing before the officiant were deeply in love. I hung in the back, trying to look inconspicuous. Lisbon was there, of course she was there, looking radiant. A bridesmaid once more, dressed in pink and fluff and lace. I'd never seen her looking more stunning. I wondered as bride and groom made their way down the aisle hand in hand at the conclusion of the ceremony wither Van Pelt had told anyone of her note to me, whether she'd told anyone of her personal invitation. And I wondered if any of my old friends had seen me. They had all been standing in the front after all, not facing the congregation.

I held back as the crowd began to thin out, walking slowly to the reception site. The hall chose was an easy walk through the park, and while some o the older guests had decided to drive the half mile through the trees, I decided to walk. It was after all a beautiful day.

I watched the crowds thin out along the paved path, the men in casual suites and the women in flowy dresses, even children running around dressed like mini adults.

I've not been to many weddings. I never had the occasion to growing up, not fancy affairs like this. Weddings at the carnival tended to be casual, if there at all. A local justice of the peace was often the easiest way, and a party at break down blending in with the regular festivities an business. His own wedding was a small affair. Just him and Angela and a few of their close friends. She'd worn a pink sun dress and a small bouquet of yellow wild flowers. My own outfit was just a nicer pair of jeans and a polo shirt. Angela had picked it, it was a deep lime green that she claimed brought out the color in my eyes.

I walked slowly, meandering towards the hall, not wanting to disturb anyone, and not wanting to hurry lest I encounter someone who would rather not see me. The afternoon sunlight was soft through the half empty branches of the autumn trees and I was too busy looking at them to notice someone around the corner of the path until I was almost upon them. I stopped short, intending to turn around, not knowing quite who was in front of me, a woman, one of the bridesmaids, but it was too late. The woman had heard me. And when she turned around I stopped short.

"Lisbon." I hadn't intended to say her name out loud, but it was like my mouth had a mind of its own.

"Jane." To her credit she didn't seem mad.

"The ceremony was lovely." I said, trying to make the situation less awkward.

"Grace told me that she sent you an invitation. I didn't think you would actually come." She stood apart from me, her sleeveless dress doing nothing for the slight chill that seemed to come up suddenly.

"I wasn't sure I was coming myself, until I got here. I wasn't sure I was going to make it." Small talk. That was always good. In the back of my mind the thoughts and realizations that I had been coming to the past while, and on the way here, played on repeat.

"I'm sure she'll be happy to see you." I could sense the end of a conversation when I heard one and as she started to turn around I rushed forward and put my hand on her arm.

"Lisbon," I started, then amended, softer than I had spoken before "Teresa. We need to talk."

"Why?" She didn't look around, and though it had been a while since I'd seen her I could tell that she was pulling her mad face.

"Because I was an idiot." I heard her snort. "No, idiot is the wrong word. I was a bastard a selfish, arrogant, egotistical, bastard."

"Really?" Obviously my self depreciation was unimpressive to her.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking. A lot. I...I didn't know what I was thinking. With Red John. I...I think I thought that I was going to be above the law. That life would be better. I mean, when I shot Timothy Carter, who I honestly thought was Red John, it was fine. I didn't care. I thought that my mission was done. And I didn't think, I don't know. I guess I didn't think in general." This wasn't coming out the way that I wanted.

"I thought you had changed Jane. I thought you knew that there were people out there that cared about you. I thought you would know that. Obviously I was wrong." Her voice was hushed, but angry and I didn't blame her.

She turned to leave again, but I didn't want her to go. I needed her to know.

"I messed up. I didn't think. I was selfish. I've had a lot of time to think. I fooled myself into thinking that my wife and daughter wanted me to avenge their deaths. But I was wrong. I am what Red John called me. I am a charlatan. Then and now. I look out only for myself."

"I already knew that." She had stopped trying to move away from me. I took this as a positive sign.

"Teresa." I paused, unsure of how to put into words the jumble of thoughts running around my mind. "I let you down. I let everyone down." I sighed. "I tried to pretend that it didn't matter. That you didn't matter. I tried to convince myself that I was just using you. That I didn't need you or your approval. But I was wrong."

"What?"

"I was wrong. I need people. I need you. I need to stop lying to myself. All of this time hiding in my empty house, trying to pretend that I wasn't empty inside. Trying to pretend that I didn't need the CBI, the team...you."

"You...you need _me_?" She asked in disbelief. Her voice cracked a little on the end and I knew I couldn't abide her tearing up or even crying over my mistake.

"I need you Teresa. I didn't always realize that. And I'm sorry that I let you down." I hadn't planned to apologize, but the words just came out of my mouth. And the look on her face, disbelief and shock. I knew that she didn't believe me, or rather, she didn't believe what I had said. After all, how many empty apologies had I given her in all the years we had known each other? But, once the words were out of my mouth they just wouldn't stop coming. "I'm sorry that I let you down. I'm sorry that I killed Red John. Oh am I sorry. I was so consumed by the idea that revenge was all that I needed that I couldn't think straight. But, most of all I'm sorry that I disappointed you. That I let you down. Knowing that everyone I've grown to care about over the past ten years hates me, or at the very least doesn't want to have anything to do with me."

Now I was the one who was tearing up. But I wasn't going to stop. This was important. "When I got Van Pelt's note I dared to hope that I could come back. That I could beg my friends for forgiveness. But most of all, I hoped that you might see me. That you might welcome me. That you might forgive me."

"Jane..." Her voice trailed off. She looked at me, her face full of sorrow, full of pain, and behind that pain maybe just a hint of love and acceptance.

"I know that it's not going to happen over night. I know that it's not going to be easy. But I can't go on like this. I can't not be with you. I need you. Despite the evidence to the contrary, I need you to keep me on the straight and narrow. Please."

I looked at her with a look of pleading. I wouldn't tell her this, but I knew I would get down on my knees if I needed to beg her forgiveness, to beg her to give me another chance.

"Jane...lets go to the reception. There's cake and stake and wine and good music." I smiled at her, knowing that I was already half way there. "This isn't an all ok. This isn't an I forgive you. This is just a first step."

I nodded. I knew that we were a long way form healed. I knew that I had a lot more forgiveness to beg. But for right now it was going to be ok. We were on our way. I walked close by her on the way to the reception hall, glad that I had come. Glad that I had been invited. Glad that Van Pelt had reached out to me. And glad to be on my way back home.


End file.
